Easy Like Sunday Morning
by irelandrain74
Summary: Rachel stumbles upon an old friend performing in a bar, and she's always loved a man who knows his way around a mic stand... Raine/Blainchel/Anderberry future fic. Formerly a one-shot, now multi-chapter due to popular demand. Some side pairings.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Not my usual fic pairing, but I do love a little Raine. It's a little OOC but I figure they've been in college a few years and they do what they want. As always thank you for reading and please, please let me know what you think and review. :) [Oh, and this was written for jackpotgirl91 on tumblr who does AMAZING things with Learren/Raine so you should go follow her. ;)]**

Rachel wanted to strangle her best friend sometimes.

She had met Chelsea in her very first theatre class at NYU, and they had been inseparable ever since. Chelsea's crisp mezzo-soprano was a perfect duetting complement to her own voice and they shared a love of Broadway and Burberry.

But Chelsea was a bit of a hipster.

And that was why Rachel was in a dive bar in Brooklyn at 9 PM on a Friday night.

"I'm telling you, Rach, this band is incredible. You're going to love them."

"If it's anything like the last three 'incredible bands' you've dragged me to see, I'm going to require more alcohol than usual, Chelsea." Rachel pulled at her dress and shifted a little on her bar stool, making the rickety thing squeak and rock dangerously. The only consolation of these nights spent in hipster dens all over New York was that she got to dress up and get a little drunk, and she had prepared accordingly tonight in a frothy black minidress with patent red shoes and jewelry. "What band plays at 9 PM, anyway?"

"Untapped Veins isn't on until 10, actually. I thought we could use this time to get drunk." Chelsea grinned at Rachel (who merely glared at her) and turned to the bartender. "Two Irish mudslides, please."

"Why do I put up with you?" Rachel asked, grabbing her drink from the bartender and taking a mighty drag.

Chelsea's reply of "because I pay for your alcohol" was cut off by an ear-splitting squeal of feedback. Both girls turned to see a boy in a turquoise plaid shirt and black jeans fiddling with the microphone on the small stage. Chelsea huffed – "opening acts!" – and turned back to her mudslide, but Rachel's gaze lingered. The guy on stage had dark, curly hair, a heavy dose of scruff, and a Yamaha keyboard in front of him. He looked… weirdly familiar.

"Um, hi everybody," the guy said, having wrestled the microphone into submission. "Thanks for being here tonight. I'm going to sing a couple of songs for you guys so… enjoy."

Rachel's eyebrows drew together. He even sounded familiar. But where was all the smarm? The sass? The propriety? Under all that (freaking sexy) facial hair _couldn't be_ –

All doubts were erased when he started to sing. Rachel prided herself on recognizing the incredible talent in others and there was no way she could ever forget a voice like that. It was rich and textured and – yes, there it was – accompanied by a falsetto face that made her want to _do_ things to him.

"Is this guy serious? Isn't 'Go the Distance' from Hercules? Who does Disney – Rach?" Chelsea turned back to her friend, who was staring at the singer onstage with her mouth slightly open. "Rachel?"

"What?" She didn't look away as she fumbled around behind her for her drink and, finding it, took a long slurp.

"You know you're drooling all over a guy who's singing Disney covers, right?"

"Mmmph."

"Rachel. As your best friend it is my duty to inform you when you're – RACHEL! "

Rachel slid off her barstool, mudslide in hand, and started to push her way through the American Apparel-clad crowd.

She bit her lip when he hit a particularly high note in the second chorus and held it, his vibrato sending chills down her spine. She had pined after Blaine so badly in high school – his cool demeanor, his fondness for jumping on furniture, and this _voice. _But after their one perfect night of alcohol-induced passion, she was forced to accept that Blaine was entirely uninterested in women. So while his smolder never stopped making her crazy, she squelched her feelings when he started dating Kurt.

But he and Kurt had broken up years ago.

And now he was fifteen feet in front of her, making love to that keyboard and warbling out a song that made her heart constrict and doing it all while looking like some sort of artsy hobo and _she had never wanted him more_.

As he was finishing the song, she finally made it up to the edge of the stage, and he saw her.

She was sure he recognized her because their eyes locked (and had his been so cinnamon and sparkly and long-lashed in high school? because she really couldn't remember anything right now with the way he was looking at her with them). And he smiled, all full lips and straight teeth and she nearly dropped her drink but then he launched into "Easy" by the Commodores and she felt the sudden need to take another swallow, willing the Bailey's to kick in faster.

Rachel willed herself to look away from the beautiful man performing in front of her for just a moment, trying to clear her head. It didn't help much, since she could still _hear_ him crooning about being easy like Sunday morning, but it kept her from being a pile of mush.

She needed to convince herself not to crawl up on this stage and insist on performing some sort of cheesy duet with him (or tearing that shirt right off his very fine body). But she was finding that difficult when her thought pattern was this erratic:

_You haven't seen him in over two years. (Holy mother, the breathiness). He might not recognize you! No, he definitely did. Even if he recognizes you, he might not want to see you. (In the name of Barbra, what note was that?) No, he definitely does. He's gay. There it is, Rachel! He's gay. He's gay he's gay he's gay he's gay…_

Blaine picked that moment to inform the crowd he had an old friend in the audience and he wondered if she'd come up and do a little singing with him.

She couldn't hold on to the "he's gay" bit when he came to edge of the stage, extended his hand, and pulled her onto the stage and into a hug.

"Rachel," he breathed against her neck as he hugged her. "I can't believe you're here. It's amazing to see you. You look stunning." There was light applause and a catcall or two, but all Rachel could focus on was the way his shoulders felt under her hands, sculpted and warm, and his chest enveloped her. His scruff brushed against her cheek as he pulled away and she shivered.

"Do you remember 'Not Alone'?" he asked. She nodded mutely. "I know you won't mind helping me out…"

"No, of course not," she finally managed. He gestured her to the other mic stand, standing dormant towards the back of the stage, and she took it, fiddling with the switch to turn it on. She stood, watching, as he sat back at the keyboard and played the opening strains of "Not Alone."

She shifted awkwardly as his voice filled the little bar. While most of the crowd was talking or watching Blaine, a few people were looking at her. One of which was Chelsea, who looked like someone had put actual mud in her mudslide. Rachel gave a half-smile, which didn't soften her best friend in the slightest. But then she was distracted again – that voice, that stupid falsetto face she could only half-see from her current angle – and it was her turn to join him.

The sound of their voices together gave her chills and if their looks were any indication, they gave a few of the bar patrons chills, too. It had been _so long _since she had duetted with Blaine, she could hardly stand it. By the time the song ended – Blaine riffing ridiculously in his upper register, her choosing a simpler melody to let him shine – she was so consumed with feeling she didn't know how to form a coherent sentence.

"Rachel Berry, everybody!" he announced. Despite the hundreds of times she had stood, soaking up applause, Rachel felt a blush color her cheeks. "Thank you guys so much for letting me sing for you tonight. If you like what you hear you can check me out at .com."

Blaine started to pack his keyboard away, leaving Rachel standing awkwardly. She hurriedly replaced her microphone and scurried over and off the stage to stand beside him.

He finished zipping the case up and turned to lay one of those charming smiles on her. "Rachel! Thank you so much for lending me your Broadway belt. I'm sorry it was so sudden – I just _had_ to have you singing with me when I saw you!" He reached out and grabbed her hand, guitar callouses rubbing across her palm. She looked down at their joined hands, a mingle of olive skin and her cherry nail polish. "How have you been?"

"Wonderful," she answered honestly. "What about you? It's been so long – "

"I've been great. I'm at MSM. Composition major. And you have to be studying musical theatre." Rachel finally found the strength to look back up at him and instantly regretted it, because those eyes were even more shiny up close and that smirk was so very _Blaine_ and were his fingers _moving_ across her palm?

"Yes, at NYU. I'm in the process of auditioning for an off-Broadway role as we speak, actually."

"I can't say I'm surprised." He smiled again and gave her hand a light squeeze. "Is Finn with you?"

That was his question? Really? "No," she laughed. "We broke up right after I moved here. I guess he couldn't stand a long-distance relationship."

"Oh." Something about the way Blaine said the word sent another burst of heat through Rachel's body. "Well, then, that makes it totally OK for me to say this: WOW."

"Wow what?" she asked, giggling.

Blaine spun her around by their entwined hands. "Look at you. You were always beautiful in high school but WOW."

"Oh, the empty flattery of a gay man." Rachel laughed as she said it, but it came out as bitter and hollow and flat.

"Come on, Rachel. Really? You had to know that was a phase."

She dropped his hand. "_What?_"

"I loved Kurt, don't get me wrong!" he said, throwing his hands up in defense as Rachel scowled, "but – and you helped me figure this out – I really like women, too."

Rachel blinked at him. "You were '100% gay' in high school."

"Yes, because Kurt didn't believe in bisexuality. And I loved him, and I didn't want to upset him more than I did with you."

"But you preferred kissing Kurt to kissing girls at the time." It was less an accusation and more a search for affirmation.

"I think you were probably the best kiss I ever had, actually. Drunk _or_ sober." He winked, damn him, actually WINKED. "If you hadn't been so in love with Finn…"

"Tell me you're kidding me."

"Not kidding," he said with a shake of his head.

She couldn't stop herself from kissing the hell out of him.

* * *

><p>Five minutes later Rachel was pressed up against the door of the women's bathroom as Blaine mauled her with kisses, all lips and teeth on her ear, down her neck, past her collarbone. The scratch of his facial hair was almost more than she could stand; she was arching into him with abandon, relishing the dark growls that snarled out of his chest each time she did. "You're sure you're not gay?" she managed to whimper out.<p>

Blaine pulled back, panting. "Really?" He ground his hips into hers and went back to work without waiting for an answer.

They both growled when someone banged against the door with enough force to move them. "RACHEL BARBRA BERRY, WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING? YOU'RE NOT DRUNK ENOUGH FOR THIS LEVEL OF SLUTTINESS! RACHEL! OPEN THE DOOR!"

Blaine slammed Rachel into the door harder in response and whispered as he licked her ear. "Your friend's kind of a buzzkill."

"I know," Rachel panted out, "but without her I would never have been in a hipster-infested cave like this one."

"Remind me to buy her a drink," Blaine whispered with a bite to her collarbone.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hi everyone. Since so many of you crazies put a one-shot on alert, I felt obligated to turn it into a multi-chapter. :) If you like what you see here - and tell me so - I'll happily continue. There are a few other side-pairings, but Raine is endgame. :) As always, thank you for reading and please review to let me know what you think!**

The first thing Rachel registers when she wakes up is _sore._

She doesn't move at first, doing a motionless self-evaluation: Feet? Sore. Calves? Sore. Hips? Sore.

And then she pauses because her hips should only be that sore if she got smashed last night and engaged in some sort of inappropriate conduct, which would mean she should be stupendously hungover right now and as her self-evaluation travels further up (Abs? Sore. Arms? Sore.) she realizes that the one thing that should be aching – her head – isn't.

So she turns to the side and nearly puts her nose in a nest of dense curls.

She can't help the grin that splits her face as the entire night comes back to her.

"Blaine," she hisses. A muffled noise comes from the other side of the bed, the mattress shifts a little beneath her, then everything's still again. "Blaine," she says again, a little louder. This time the answering groan is louder, still muffled by the fact that the man beside her is laying on his stomach, his face buried in her white pillowcase. Rachel sits up (with a groan of her own – seriously, how are her abs this sore?) and rolls towards him, taking advantage of his shirtlessness to press kisses to his shoulderblades.

"Tha's not gonna make me get up," he mumbles into the bed. "Mmmph."

Rachel pulls back and laughs. "There all sorts of other things I can kiss if you do," she taunts, and Blaine quickly rolls over and tackles her back to the bed, mauling her lips with his. "How is it possible that you're even sexier now than in high school?" she asks between kisses.

"Because you thought I was gay back then?" he offers as he makes his way back down her neck, her collarbone, her sternum.

"You – aren't though – right?" Rachel's words come out brokenly, her breath stolen every few seconds when Blaine puts those wonderfully white teeth to work.

She whines as he sits back and frowns at her. "That question is starting to get offensive."

"I'm _sorry_, I just had two years of watching you love all up on my best gay friend…"

"Did you really just say 'love all up on'? Rachel. What has happened to you in college? No, never mind, not important. I'm not gay."

"Then you can go back to what you were doing," Rachel hints, laying back on the sheets.

"I don't think so," Blaine says.

"I'm sorry I questioned you!"

"Your begging leaves a lot to be desired."

"Oh, please, Master Bl – " Rachel pouts heavily when a buzzing noise cuts her off.

"Keep the pout, that will work," Blaine says as he reaches across her to grab his phone from the nightstand. "Hello?" he answers, still half on top of Rachel.

And then Rachel realizes that they're in her apartment. "Blaine," she mouths, waving wildly. But he is looking away from her, his eyes a little wide. "BLAINE!" This time she ups the noise to stage-whisper level.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine. No, I'm so sorry. My gig ran kind of late last night, and I just crashed at a friend's since it was close. I just… forgot to check my phone, I guess."

Rachel stops mid-wave, eyebrows furrowing.

"No, no, I'll take the subway home. Yeah, I'm sure. Where am I now? Uhhh…" Blaine finally looks back down at Rachel, her features painted with a scowl. "I'm still at my friend's. Huh? No, oh no, that's… no, let's not do that today. I've got a lot going on, and I'll just see you back at the apartment." Rachel's scowl gets even deeper, if that's possible. "No, I don't – no – please don't -well, shit." And Blaine throws the phone down on the bed, covering his face with his hands.

"Blaine?" Rachel's tone is edgy enough to catch his attention, but she lets her face do the talking from there.

"Uh, hey Rachel. I'm _really_ not meaning to be an ass, here, but I, uh, I really need to go."

"Gotta get back to the _apartment_, huh?" she says.

"Well, yeah, my, uh, roommate was worried about me, I guess."

"Your _roommate_," Rachel says, nodding. "I had to ask if you were gay. I can't believe it never occurred to me to ask if you were _dating_. I am an _idiot._"

"Rachel – "

"Get out, Blaine. Just… get out." Her attempts to pull the covers up over her head are foiled by the fact that he is still sitting on them, so she rolls her upper-half to one side and folds her pillow over her face.

"Rachel."

"_Get out_," she growls through the fabric.

Blaine leans forward and tugs hard at the pillow. "Come on, Rachel, it's not like that."

"Don't you think you've humiliated me enough?" she whines.

"OK, fine, don't look at me. I'm talking anyway. I do have a roommate. And I _was_ dating said roommate." Blaine reaches out a tentative hand to smooth Rachel's hair, but she arches away from him like a cranky toddler. "I broke up with said roommate over a month ago, but I can't get said roommate to move out. …or understand that we're broken up, but that's another matter entirely." He says the last words as much to himself as to Rachel, but she finally pulls the pillow away from her face.

She blinks at him for a moment. "So… you're not gay _or_ in a relationship. Is there anything else I should know?" When Blaine shakes his head, she laughs. "So you can't get rid of your ex. You always were too nice." He gives a toothy grin and smoothes a hand over the back of his neck. "But that doesn't explain why you're so desperate to get out of here. You should go, though. Oh Lord." Rachel is suddenly the one covering her face with her hands. "It was terrible for you! I was terrible!"

"Of course you – was _I_ that bad? Because first you accuse me of being gay, and now you seem to be so confused as to think that I didn't enjoy last night."

"It was really alright?"

"It was _so much_ better than alright," Blaine says with a vigorous nod.

"OK. But then – why – "

Blaine bites his lip before replying. "My crazy roommate has a GPS tracker on my phone and… might be coming here as we speak."

Rachel blanches. "You, you should get out of here. You should probably leave right away." She sits up and pushes him off of her, diving to the floor for his discarded plaid shirt and handing it up to him.

"I want to see you again," Blaine says.

Rachel stops short, half-bent to grab his black jeans from the carpet. "That would be… wonderful, Blaine."

"What's your number?" he asks. He punches the digits in as she pulls a tank top and little gym shorts out of a drawer and slips them on. "I'll call you. Soon." Blaine buttons halfway up his plaid shirt and leaves the rest hanging open as he bounces up from the bed. "I'm so damn glad you came to that bar last night," he says, wrapping his arms around Rachel to give her one more thorough kiss.

"Me too," she blushes. "Go, now."

And then her buzzer rings.

"Crap." They say the word in unison. Blaine darts for the door but Rachel grabs the back of his shirt.

"Rachel! What are you doing? That's probably my roommate!"

The buzzer sounds again. "RACHEL?" a masculine voice yells from the other side of the door. "COME ON, OPEN UP. THERE'S A CREEPY ASSHOLE OUT HERE!"

"Oh, shit," she says. Blaine's eyebrows skyrocket.

"Calm down, beefcake," comes a second voice, higher but also male, from behind the door. "I'm just here looking for my boyfriend."

Rachel returns Blaine's look of incredulity, then walks resolutely over to the apartment door and opens it.

Noah Puckerman and Jesse St. James are standing in the hallway.

"Well it's about time –" Noah says.

"Oh. Hi, Rachel. I'm just looking for – Blaine?" Jesse starts as Blaine appears from behind Rachel.

"_Anderson_?" Noah blurts.

Rachel fainting is the one thing that doesn't come as a surprise to any of them.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hi there, everyone. I just started a new job so I have no time at all but I'm still trying to update as quickly as possible. Thanks so much to everyone who alerted and favorited and most importantly reviewed. Those things are seriously the only reason that I can sacrifice sleep to make this happen faster. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think of the direction this is taking and review. Much love!**

"You asshole! Why didn't you catch her?" Puck yells.

"I _tried_. You made it a little tough when you kept screaming 'don't touch her!' and punching me in the arm."

"Boys, boys," Jesse says, pushing the two men apart to reveal Rachel, slumped on the floor. "As much as I appreciate the drama of this posturing, let's get her to the couch."

"I'll get –" Blaine says, bending towards the girl.

"No, dammit, you will not," Puck barks, lunging for Blaine.

"Why don't each of you take a side?" When both men turn to fix Jesse with a look of disbelief, he throws up his hands. "What? I have a touch of sciatica, or I'd do it myself."

So Puck takes her legs and Blaine cradles her torso, and they scuttle awkwardly over to the big leather couch and drape Rachel's limp body over it and surround her again, both leaning over her unconscious form.

"Guys? How do you think Rachel will react if she wakes up and you two are staring down at her? Why don't you take a seat, relax a minute? I'm going to go get some ice." And Jesse wanders off in the vague direction of the freezer.

"How the hell does he know where the kitchen is?" Puck asks, rubbernecking. "Is he hanging out in Rachel's apartment now, too?" He runs a hand over his head – fully shaven, now, the boyish mohawk from high school long gone – and sinks down into an overstuffed armchair.

Blaine doesn't sit, crossing his arms and feeling tiny. Besides having him by four inches, easy, the other man still has the jacked muscles of a body-builder. "What are you doing here, Puck?"

"What am _I _doing here? You gotta be kidding me. Rachel's one of my best friends, I have every right to be here. The question is what the hell you're doing here, Anderson."

Blaine cocks his head. "I'm sorry but _you're_ Rachel's best friend?"

"Is that shocking or something?" Puck asks, leaning forward. When he sees Blaine shrugging and nodding, he gives an explosive sigh and relaxes against the corduroy. "Yeah, OK, I was a jerk to Berry in high school sometimes. I did spend a lot of time slushying her or trying to sleep with her. But I've changed, man. Grown up."

"Oh, you have?" Blaine says, nodding obnoxiously again. "That means you're not just hanging out with Rachel so you can sneak in and seduce her while she sleeps?"

"Dude, you took that to a seriously creepy place. And – no, holy shit, really, man? Let's get back to what the _hell_ you're doing here? It's not like you've been bringing Rachel bowls of chicken noodle soup when she's blowing snot everywhere! And trust me, dude, that takes some serious steel –"

"I – " And suddenly Blaine is stuttering and backing up. "She came to one of my gigs…"

"And that turns into you being in her apartment at 7:30 AM how?" Puck is rising again, his jaw tightening.

"Listen, Puck, I just –"

"Oh, you have got to watch where you're going, stud!" Jesse squeezes one of Blaine's buttcheeks as he strides back into the room and Blaine nearly backs into him. "Oh, are you guys fighting? I'm totally okay with this, but only if it's a slow build of both relational and sexual tension and it ends with your passionate love-making, preferably while Rachel and I watch."

Both men just stare at Jesse, who leans over Rachel with an icepack.

"You don't get to hate anymore, 'cause it's clear you'll bang anything that moves." Puck says, shaking his head.

"I had a curly phase!" Blaine squawks defensively.

Rachel sits up with a small scream when Jesse lays the ice pack over her forehead, her dark eyes staying crossed for just a moment. "Puck? Jesse? Blaine?" She says each boy's name as she looks at him, her eyes growing wider. When her eyes cross again and she starts towards the couch, Jesse smooshes the ice pack against her forehead and pushes her back up. "HEY!"

"Sorry, Rachel, but if you pass out, you'll miss the sexy show our two very fine friends are about to put on!" Jesse waves a hand toward Puck and Blaine, who both blink dumbly with gaping mouths.

"I – what? Oh my Barbra, is Puck gay, too? You're all gay, and this is all some sort of spectacular and elaborate and incredibly cruel joke to get me back for constantly reminding you that I have two gay dads –"

"I'm not GAY!"

"I'm _not_ _gay_!"

"I'm a true performer who recognizes that my sexuality is a liquid and that I can only reach my full potential by following any and all urges I may feel."

Rachel buries her face in her hands. "OK, who wants to explain to me what exactly is going on?"

Puck and Blaine both lurch towards her at the same time, words spilling from their mouths. Rachel holds up a hand, stopping them, and Jesse takes the opportunity. "Well, Rachel, Blaine didn't come home last night, and recognizing that his considerable talent and handling of mic stands often make him a target for hipster-rapists, I decided to track him here to ensure his safety."

Puck is out of the armchair and in Blaine's face. "Wait just a second, you _slept over_ at Rachel's last night? What. the. hell. Did you drug her? Did he try anything, Rachel? Aren't you _gay_, anyway?"

"We can talk about that later, Noah," Rachel says. Blaine can't help smirking when she blushes, her eyes more black than brown.

"Oh my Lord, he did! He drugged you!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Noah, Blaine didn't _drug_ me. We were merely two old friends reuniting after a very long time apart."

"Reuniting, is that what they're calling it now a days?"

"Jesse, shut the hell up."

"But he's _gay_, Rachel." Puck moans.

"And apparently Jesse is now, too, but I don't think he was feeling that way in high school, were you, Jesse?"

"Actually – "

"The point is that people change, Puck. And Blaine and I had a lovely evening, and since you are not my boyfriend and only try to sleep with me when you're unbelievably drunk, I don't see that you have anything to be upset about." Rachel huffs when she finishes and Blaine smiles at her, because this is the Rachel he remembers from high school, a tiny diva with a big voice.

"Whatever," Puck growls. "I'm not gonna be here to run lines with you this afternoon. I need some time. I'll see you later." And he turns and storms out of the apartment, slamming the door as loudly as possible.

"Now _that_ was an exit," Jesse chimes.

Blaine walks over to Rachel and wedges himself beside her on the couch. "I'm so sorry you fainted. Are you OK?"

"I'm fine," she says, putting a hand to his thigh.

"So… you're not dating Puck. And it won't be an issue for me to see you again?"

"No," she giggles. "Not for me, anyway. I'll deal with Noah."

He reaches out to brush a thumb over her lips, wincing at how cliché the motion is. "I can't wait. But I'm going to get the unholy saint over there out of your apartment," he finishes, whispering into her dark hair. "Come on, Jesse, don't you have a rehearsal?"

"You're exactly right, Blaine, baby, that's why I love you. It was lovely to see you Rachel!" Jesse gives a little wave and then leans over to Blaine as they head for the door. "You should see her again. There aren't words for the quality increase between her and the last four American Apparel-wearing sluts I've found you with this month!"

When Rachel slams the door to her bathroom, it's somehow louder than Puck's exit.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I hope there are some of you still around who read this fic! I still think about it a lot, but I'm super busy so it takes me a long time to update sometimes. If you're still with me, I'm sorry, and thank you. If you're new - welcome, I REALLY hope you like it. :) Thanks for reading - and please, please let me know what you think and review! Love!**

Blaine calls constantly. He calls until he's filled up Rachel's voicemail box with rambling messages in which he apologizes, begs for forgiveness, sings a myriad of selections including "Hard to Say I'm Sorry", and, in one memorable instance, cries.

When the mailbox starts rejecting him he falls into despair because now he doesn't even get to hear her chipper voice lying about calling him back if he leaves his name and number. He still calls, feeling like a bird flying into a window every time she doesn't pick up.

"I don't understand what you're mooning over," Jesse snarks one evening as Blaine lays with his face buried in the arm of the couch, absentmindedly touching the speakerphone and speed dial on his cell phone every few minutes. "I mean, yes, Rachel's talented, but let's be honest - so am I. And unless she has spent substantial time in gymnastics since we were in high school, I know for a fact that she's not as flexible as I am." Jesse's suggestive eyebrow waggle is lost on Blaine, who, still prostrate, merely moans in response. "Seriously, Blaine, if you're really off your gay and trying out this bisexual thing you should go back to your old methods. Open mouth, strum guitar, drop panties. You'll have to beat those raccoon-eyed scene girls off of you."

"I ohnt unt orish scene girls."

"Blaine, baby, stop eating the cushions, I can't hear you."

"I said, I don't want whorish scene girls." Jesse smirks and opens his mouth, but Blaine stops him with an outstretched hand. "No, I don't want you. I don't want anybody but Rachel."

"But I don't understand -"

Blaine waves a hand dismissively. "Just stop." And he sinks back into the couch, the fabric scratching a little over the scruff that is starting to turn into a full-blown beard now that he's not actively landscaping it. Because if he's honest with himself, he doesn't understand it either. He keeps telling himself that he had an (admittedly fantastic) one-night stand with Rachel, years after his moony high school self got all starry-eyed over her powerful presence and little school girl outfits. He keeps reasoning that they weren't in some deeply committed relationship, and that they might have gone separate ways soon enough even if Jesse and Puck and his own recently-found taste for women hadn't gotten in the way.

It doesn't do any good. The knowledge that she's here - she's in New York - and that every second she's ignoring his calls Noah Puckerman is probably comforting her with hypocritical comments about him being a man-whore is just too much. He suddenly finds himself thinking about, wanting, weird things – not her hair and her eyes and her tiny waist – but the way she tilts her head when she's really serious about something, and the way she covers her face when she's excited. He just _wants her_, and he's not sure what to do about it.

That's how he finds himself standing outside her little apartment about two weeks after the incident. It's raining and he's wet and a little out of breath after the jog from the subway station. He paces around in the hallway outside for a few minutes, trying to work up the courage to knock and preparing himself to slide through the door before or perhaps while she is slamming it on him.

He's three knocks in when long-fingered hands clasp onto his shoulders and pull him away from the door.

Blaine tenses up and spins around, ready to slap or punch or at least flail in the direction of his attacker. He's sure it's Puck, come to do the damage he clearly wanted to do in Rachel's apartment two weeks ago, and Blaine feels defeated already because he may be scrappy, but Puck is jacked and –

Instead it's an Amazon – an auburn-haired girl so much taller than Blaine that he has to literally crane his neck to look her in the eye. "Oh, hi, Chelsea," he squeaks, recognizing Rachel's hipster friend from the bar.

"Here's the deal, Frodo," she says, a single finger on his collarbone. "Rachel's a classy lady so I don't know what exactly went down after you all had your little 'A Whole New World' moment on stage the other night, but from what I gather you were kind of an asshole."

"I –"

"I'm not done, doll." Blaine finds himself silenced and blinking, his mouth still hanging open. "Rachel isn't the best at explaining complicated romantic entanglements and I'm worse at understanding them so I'm not even going to get into the chaos ball of sexual preference that is your life. What I do have to say is that if you aren't the little slimeball Rachel and Puck have led me to believe you are, I'm going to help you."

"I – what?"

Chelsea rolls her eyes. "I find you kind of ridiculous – Disney songs, seriously, Aladdin? – but Rachel's been watching _Love Story_ and sobbing into an open half-gallon of soy ice cream every night for two weeks. The _only_ other time I've ever seen her like this was the first month of our freshman year and it was a Journey's Greatest Hits instead of _Love Story_." She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "So two questions: are you some sort of Puck part two who's compelled to screw everything with two legs?"

It takes Blaine a second to answer – he's trying to gauge whether or not he's allowed to now because, dang, she is scary. And then he's offended. "No. Absolutely not. I have only ever been in steady, monogamous relationships until the two girls I picked up in clubs when I was figuring out I wasn't just gay–"

"Oooohkay, I'm not checking you for STDs, don't need to know your entire sexual past. Question two, and this is the important one: what is Rachel to you?"

Blaine doesn't even look at Chelsea – he looks past her, his hazel eyes going all sparkly. "I had a terrible crush on her in high school, and now that we're both older – we're both free – I can't even tell you why, but I want to be with her."

Chelsea smiles for the first time. "Then this is what you're going to do."

* * *

><p>Puck's apartment isn't very high up on the list of places Blaine really wanted to visit. In fact, it isn't on the list at all. Chelsea doesn't care.<p>

She won't even take him there herself ("That place is like a frat house, no way") so he's ducking his head toward his phone every few minutes, willing the GPS to work.

When he finally finds the apartment he takes a huge breath and maybe mutters a little prayer before knocking. There's no sign of life behind the door for a few minutes and he exhales with relief, turning to glide back down the stairs and out of here.

He's to the first step when the door opens and Puck's voice rings out a "stop."

Blaine bites at his lip a second before he turns around slowly, trying to go limp so if Puck pushes him down the flight of stairs he'll break fewer bones.

"Will you stop quivering like a kicked cocker spaniel? I'd have punched you out at Rachel's if I was really going to hurt you. I mean, sure, she doesn't like seeing blood, but it's not gonna kill her. Come on, come in." Puck turns and heads back into his apartment without waiting to make sure Blaine follows.

Chelsea's right – it looks like an animal lives here. The dishes appear to be permanently "soaking", there are skin mags parked unapologetically on the coffee table, and wifebeaters in varying states of cleanliness are covering every surface. Blaine stifles the urge to ask him how he lives like this and instead stands just past the doorway, trying not to touch anything for fear of dirtying up his highwaters.

"Look, man, do you wanna sit down?" Puck asks, extending a beer with an outstretched hand. Blaine shakes his head, rapidly refusing both offers. "OK, stand – I don't care." He sits himself down in the armchair without bothering to remove the layer of Froot Loop crumbs on top of the wifebeaters, cracking his own beer open. "Chelsea tells me you wanna be with Rachel.

Blaine doesn't trust himself to speak, so he just nods hard.

"She also tells me you're not a manwhore."

Blaine nods again.

"So that leaves the big question up to me to ask." Blaine swallows, preparing himself for whatever question Puck might lay on him. "You did a lot of mackin' on Hummel in high school and apparently got your fairy diddle on with St. Jackass, too. You absolutely sure you're not gay?"

And despite his resolution to remain calm and quiet during the interactions with Puckerman, it just flies out: "_Why_ does everyone keep asking me that question?"

"Hey, we gotta right to know if you're gonna queer out on our girl."

"OK, firstly, all of your comments are frankly homophobic and insensitive. Secondly, I've been firmly Rachel-sexual since high school, so you do not need to worry about that."

"Alright then. Here's what you need to know: I love Rachel and if she would have had me things would have been a whole lot different, but she's too good for a Lima loser like me and she knows it. She _doesn't_ seem to know that she's too good for you, too, and that's workin' in your favor right now. You go make this right – you make her happy – and I will be loyal to you til the day I die."

Blaine just blinks at Puck, trying to take in the sentiment and failing.

"But if you hurt her – and I mean, if I come over to visit her and she's sniffling a little because you bought the wrong brand of tofu – all those things you've been imagining me doing to you, like kicking you in the balls and whipping you with a nun chuck and screwing up that dapper Eurasian face of yours? You'll be begging me to do those things. We clear?"

Blaine's words are gone again, so he just nods mutely.

"Alright. Then bust out your musical repertoire. We both know Rachel responds best to apologies in song form."

"But she won't talk to me – she didn't even answer the door in her –"

"Anderson. I got this. Put my number in your phone, bust out the iTunes, pick a song, text me and get practicing."

"Are you –"

"I got this," Puck repeats. "I got you."

**A/N: And in the next chapter: Blaine finally gets his sheet together and sets the record straight with Rachel.**


End file.
